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Jib 



ENDYMION. 



ENDYMION. 



A TALE OF GREECE. 



BY 



HENRY B. HIRST, 

H 

AUTHOR OF "THE PENANCE OF ROLAND," " THE FUNERAL OF TIME," 
AND OTHER POEMS. 




BOSTON: 



WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY. 

1848. 



TS l<\ ^ 
. Hit* 



Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 

WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & CO. 

in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 



STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN, 



(4) 



TO HONOURABLE WILLIAM D. KELLEY. 

My Dear Friend: 

The regard which has subsisted between us 
for years, not only in our brotherhood at the Bar, but in our 
social career, will gather, I am sure, no additional strength from 
this trifling evidence of my friendship. We have labored to- 
gether, and your success in life — an earnest of a brilliant future 
— is a happy illustration of the fact that there is no nobility like 
that of toil. 

Permit me, my dear sir, not only as an author, but as a friend, 
to commence this volume with your name. I do so, trusting 
that the gift will be received in the same fraternal and affec- 
tionate spirit with which it is tendered. 

Always yours, 

Henry B. HirsTo 

Philadelphia, April 1st, 1848. 

5* 



PREFACE. 

In offering to the public the following poem, now first com- 
pleted, the first canto having been already published in the 
" Southern Literary Messenger," July 1844, it is right that I 
should premise a few words of explanation, and, perhaps, de- 
fence. 

My friend, N. P. Willis, in the "Weekly New Mirror," July 
27th, 1844, and afterward, in his "Ephemera," while reviewing 
the first canto in terms of very high, and, it may be, undeserved 
compliment, described it as being written " after Keats." I have 
had the misfortune — presumption, it will probably be termed 
by some — to choose a subject upon which this eminent poet has 
produced a more extended and elaborate article ; but, however 
great may be the respect due to the opinion of Mr. Willis, I 
cannot consent to rest under a charge undoubtedly originating 
in a cursory examination and the associations awakened by 
identity of subject. 

Before the publication of the first canto, I had never met with 
the Endymion of Keats, and purposely avoided the perusal of 
that beautiful poem until the completion of my own, with the 
express design of escaping the danger of unintentional plagiarism. 

This may appear singular ; but it is easily explained. Until 
the age of twenty-three years, I entertained a holy horror of 
poetry — an almost ludicrous result of an exceedingly prosaic 
existence; — and, invariably, during the few and distant hours 
which sterner and less palatable duties permitted me to spend in 

(7) 



8 PREFACE. 

study, I "skipped the page" that bore the burden of averse, 
through utter parsimony of my most valuable treasure — time. 
Beyond the classic fathers of the art, speaking in their original 
tongues, the favorites of the Muses were strangers to me ; and if 
the poetical temperament found any chance for proper develop- 
ment, it was displayed exclusively in a passionate fondness for 
the study of natural history and the practice of the pencil. The 
studies of my manhood have been confined to my profession, 
and it would be safe to say that I have written — not published — 
more English rhyme than I have read. 

If, then, resemblances should be detected between the contents 
of these cantos and any portion of the Endymion of Keats, they 
are the inevitable consequence of the universal familiarity of that 
beautiful classical legend, which, as the common property of 
all, has been seized upon as a theme by two different writers, 
born of the same Anglo-Saxon race. If such resemblances 
exist, they are as foreign to the intention as they are to the know- 
ledge or perception of their author. 

Endymion was written as a simple tale, founded upon an ex- 
quisitely beautiful classical legend — a picture of scenery and 
passion, without allegorical meaning and divested of all inten- 
tional moral. It is cast forth upon the waters of the great stream 
of literature, to float or disappear, as its intrinsic qualities may 
determine. Time and the world will test its value, and more 
than its just desert, as thus decided, will never be claimed for it 
by one from whom it has beguiled the weariness of a few heavy 
hours. 



CONTENTS. 

Canto I. ♦ 11 

Canto II 31 

Canto in 61 

Canto IV 8» 



E N D Y M I N. 



CANTO I. 



ENDYMION. 



CANTO I. 



Through a deep dell with mossy hemlocks girded — 
A dell by many a sylvan Dryad prest, — 
Which Latinos' lofty crest 
Flung half in shadow — where the red deer herded — 
While mellow murmurs shook the forests grey — 
Endymion took his way. 

II. 

Like clustering sun-light fell his yellow tresses, 
With purple fillet, scarce confining, bound, 
Winding their flow around 

A snowy throat that thrilled to their caresses, 

And trembling on a breast as lucid white 

As sea-foam in the night. 
2 (13) 



14 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

III. 

His fluted tunic swelling, yielding, floated, 
Moulded to every motion of his form, 
And with the contact warm, 
Round charms on which the Satyrs might have gloated 
Had he been buskined nymph; but, being man, 
They loved him like to Pan. 

IV. 

His girdle held his pipes — those pipes that clearly 

Through Carian meadows mocked the nightingale 
When Hesper lit the vale : 
And now the youth was faint, though stepping cheerly, 
Supported by his shepherd's crook, he strode 
Toward his remote abode. 



Mount Latmos lay before him. Gently gleaming, 
A roseate halo from the twilight dim 
Hung round its crown. To him 
The rough ascent was light ; for, far off, beaming, 
Orion rose, — and Sirius, like a shield, 
Shone on the azure field. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 15 

VI. 

Yet he was faint — faint with fatigue and drooping. 
Through the long day unwearied he had kept 
Watch, while his cattle slept ; 
And now the sun was like a falcon stooping 

Down the red west, and Night from out her cave 
Walked, Christ-like, o'er the wave. 

VII. 

And from the south — the yellow south, all glowing 
With blandest beauty — came a gentle breeze, 
Murmuring o'er sleeping seas, 
Which, bearing dewy damps, and lightly flowing 

Athwart his brow, cooled his hot brain, and stole 
Like nectar to his soul. 

VIII. 

Endymion blessed the wind ; his bosom swelling 

As his parched lips drank in the luscious draught; 
His eyes, even while he quaffed, 
Brightening ; his stagnant blood again upwelling 

From his warm heart ; and freshened, as with sleep, 
He trod the rocky steep. 



16 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

IX. 

At last he gained the top, and, crowned with splendor, 
The moon, arising from the Latmian sea, 
Stepped o'er the heavenly lea, 
Flinging her misty glances, meek and tender 
As a young virgin's, o'er his marble brow 
That glistened with their glow. 

X. 

Beside him gushed a spring that in a hollow 

Had made a crystal lake, by which he stood 
To cool his heated blood — 
His blood yet fevered, for the fierce Apollo 

Throughout the long, the hot, the tropic day, * 
Embraced him with his ray. 

XL 

Beside the lake whose waves were glassily gleaming, 
A willow stood in Dian's rising rays, 
And from the woodland ways 
Its feathered, lance-like leaves were gently streaming 
Along the water, with their lucent tips 
Kissing its silver lips. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. IT 

XII. 

And still the moon arose, serenely hovering, 

Dove-like, above the horizon. Like a queen 
She walked in light between 
The stars — her lovely handmaids — softly covering 
Valley and wold, and mountain-side and plain, 
With streams of lucid rain. 

XIII. 

Endymion watched her rise, his bosom burning 

With princely thoughts, for though a shepherd's son 
He felt that Fame is won 
By high aspirings ; and a lofty yearning, 
' From the bright blossoming of his boyish days, 
Made his deeds those of praise. 

XIV. 

Like her's, his track was tranquil : he had gathered 
By slow degrees the glorious, golden lore, 
Hallowing his native shore ; 
And when at silent eve his flock was tethered, 

He read the stars, and drank, as from a stream, 
Great knowledge from their gleam. 
2* b 



18 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

XV. 

And so he grew a dreamer — one who, panting 
For shadowy objects, languished like a bird 
That, striving to be heard 
Above its fellows, fails, the struggle haunting 
Its memory ever, for ever the strife pursuing 
To its own dark undoing. 

XVI. 

And still the moon arose, and now the water 
Gleamed like a golden galaxy, star on star; 
And down, deep down, afar 
In the lazulian lake, Latona's daughter 

Imaged, reclined, breathing forth light, that rose 
Like mist at evening close. 

XVII. 

Endymion yet was heated : sudden turning, 

He loosed the clusters of his hyacinth hair, 
And shook them on the air ; 
Laid down his pipes ; unbound his girdle, burning 
The while with August heat ; his tunic now 
He drew above his brow. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 19 

XVIII. 

There, in the moon-light radiantly gleaming, 
Lovely as morn he rose ; the swelling veins 
Seeming like purple stains 
Along his limbs, which, like a star's, w r ere streaming 
Serenest light, as lustrously he stood, 
Reflected in the flood. 

XIX. 

And now, her purple zenith reaching, brighter 

Than ever before, reclined the Queen of Night, 
Enchanted with the sight 
Of one whose pure and perfect form was whiter 
Than Indian pearl, her bosom's frozen snow 
Melting in passion's glow. 

XX. 

Slowly Endymion bent, the light Elysian 

Flooding his figure. Kneeling on one knee 
He loosed his sandals, lea 
And lake and wood-land glittering on his vision, 
A fairy landscape, bright and beautiful 
With Venus at her full. 



20 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

XXL 

His milky feet gleaming in emerald grasses ; 

The moon-beams trembling on his whiter neck ; 
His breast without a speck ; 
While the dense woods around, the mossy masses 
Of rudest rock, the bronzed and Titan trees 
Looking on Latmian leas, 

XXII. 

Assumed from him an aspect soft and holy ; 
For, like a naked God, the shepherd youth 
Stood in his simple truth. 
At last, with gentle steps retiring slowly, 

He paused beside a rude, rough laurel brake, 
A bow-shot from the lake. 

XXIII. 

White-footed, then he passed the crimson clover 
Like a swift meteor gleaming on the night, 
Streaming in silver light, 
His arms uplifted and his hands flung over 

His noble head ; — a single spring he gave, 
Then flashed beneath the wave. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 21 

XXIV. 

Down, as he sank, a flood of yellow glory- 
Shot from the moon, as if the moon had dropped 
And on the mountain stopped ; 
And soon the sphere itself, grown grey and hoary, 
Its essence gone, slid slowly 'neath a cloud 
That wrapped it like a shroud. 

XXV. 

Then, like a ghost of some unwedded maiden, 

On whose pale lips life seemed to strive with death, 
Hushing, as 'twere, her breath, 
A glorious figure, wreathed with vapor laden 

With delicate odors, stood with yearning eyes, 
Waiting Endymion's rise : 

XXVI. 

A crescent on her brow — a brow, whose brightness 
Darkened the crescent — and a neck and breast 
On which young Love might rest 
Breathless with passion ; and an arm whose whiteness 
Shadowed the lily's snow; a lip the bee 
Would swoon on, and a knee 



22 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

XXVII. 

Delicately rounded ; while her white feet — glancing 
Within her sandals, shed a twilight light 
Athwart the purple night. 
Cycling her form, a zone whose gems were dancing 
With rainbow rays, with perfect love embraced 
The white round of her waist. 

XXVIII. 

Endymion rose and on the water lying 

Flung out his arms, sank, rose and sank again; 
Pale Dian in her pain, 
(For it was Dian's self who watched him,) sighing, 
While gazing on him, and her breath came short 
And heavy from her heart. 

XXIX. 

She saw not Eros, who on rosy pinion 

Hung in the willow's shadow — did not feel 
His subtle, searching steel 
Piercing her very soul, though his dominion 

Her breast had grown ; and what to her was heaven 
If from Endymion riven ? 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 23 

XXX. 

Nothing ; for love flowed in her, like a river, 

Flooding the banks of wisdom ; and her soul, 
Losing its self-control, 
Waved with a vague, uncertain, tremulous quiver ; 
And, like a lily in the storm, at last 
She sank 'neath passion's blast. 

XXXI. 

She knelt ; and thus to awful Jove complaining, 

Poured her deep voice upon the night's still ear ; — 
" Father, dread Father, hear ! 
Look down upon thy daughter ; see her waning 
And wasting as the night before the day — 
Let not thy child decay !' 

XXXII. 

" Hear me, O ! hear me, Thou who swayest the thunder ! 
I must possess Endymion, or I die. 
O ! hearken to my cry — 
Hearken, or I shall perish ! — Never was wonder 
So great as he ; white-breasted, like a God, 
He treads the swarthy sod." 



24 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

XXXIII. 

A star shot from the cope of heaven, weaving 
Its golden way along the azure air, — 
The answer to her prayer ! 
Then, rising from her knees, her bosom heaving, 

Her lips adamp with dew, while through her frame 
Discoursed a tingling flame, 

XXXIV. 

She gazed again upon Endymion, bending 

Above him from the willow's lowest limb — 
Her radiant eyes as dim 
As twilight, when the night is slowly blending 

Shadow with shadow, with her heaving breast 
Throbbing with sweet unrest. 

XXXV. 

Waving her hand, straightway, arose a fountain 
Dropping pellucid pearl without a sound, 
While from the grassy ground, 
Along the rill that filleted the mountain, 

Around the lake, and in the waving bowers 
Budded a myriad flowers. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 25 

XXXVI. 

The shepherd sought the shore, Dian retreating 
Deeper in shadow as he neared the strand. 
He touched the mossy land 
And stood erect, when, with a heavenly greeting, 
The blossom-buds unclosed, and fragrance meet 
For Gods rose at his feet. 

XXXVII. 

Around the mount it rose, — an odor fairer 

Than ever mortal flowers had known before — 
From the lake's lilied shore — 
From the thick grass — diviner, richer, rarer 

Than even Olympian light — its vapory chains 
Fettering his throbbing veins. 

XXXVIII. 

Endymion stood entranced, dreaming him dying, 
Feeling that heaven was nigh; yet could not see 
Dim Dian, for the tree 
Shadowed her still ; nor could he hear her sighing 
For the low ripple of the rill that played 
Adown the grassy glade. 
3 



26 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 



XXXIX. 

Then, like the music of a pipe low uttered, 

When the dim day is drawing to its close, 
Floating around him flows 
A cadence, gentle as though it were muttered 
A mile or more away, — " Endymion, why — 
Why hast thou sought mine eye V 9 

XL. 

He turned amazed, and heard the fountain leaping, 

And saw the flowers, but Dian saw he not, 

For darkness veiled the spot ; 

While all the while the fragrant scent was steeping 

His brain in luscious languor, leading him 

Toward Lethe dark and dim. 

XLI. 

Then sheeted shadows of old stories, buried 

Long in his memory, weird, and wan, and pale, 
Rose, and with solemn wail, 
Told how in Eld were fallen spirits that hurried 

At twilight from their caves, with spells to win 
Man's erring soul to sin. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 27 

XLIL 

He turned to fly, but feared the demon's anger 

And paused ; then knelt, and, murmuring a prayer, 
Rose with a feeble air 
And turned to fly again ; but now the languor 

That bound his limbs had so oppressive grown 
He stood — save trembling — stone. 

XLIII. 

Flowing the fragrance rose — as though each blossom 
Breathed out its very life — swell over swell, 
Like mist along the dell, 
Wooing his wondering heart from out his bosom — 

His heart, which like a lark seemed slowly winging 
Its way toward heaven, singing. 

XLIV. 

Dian looked on : she saw her spells completing, 
And signing, bade the sweetest nightingale 
That ever in Carian vale 
Sang to her charms, rise, and with softest greeting 
Woo from its mortal dreams and thoughts of clay 
Endymion's soul away. 



28 ENDIMION. [CANTO I. 

XLV. 

Endymion, wondering, struggled — never dreaming 
What lulled his senses — when a burst of song 
Swept like a stream along 
The enchanted air, flooding the landscape gleaming 
With liquid light, and sinking in his ears 
'Till his eyes swam with tears. 

XLVI. 

He saw no more ; those bright orbs shut : entrancing, 
Dim, indistinct, but loveliest visions slid 
Beneath each fringed lid : 
Music was in his heart, his pulses dancing 
Like Nereids to a shell ; and violet sleep 
Took him in gentlest keep. 

XLVII. 

He stood a moment, then in silence sinking, 

Slumbered unconscious on the odorous bloom, 
When, from the willow's gloom, 
Her jewelled zone unbound, her large eyes drinking 
Rapturous joy, with softest love entranced 
Dian in light advanced. 



CANTO I.] ENDYMION. 29 

XLVIII. 

Like the freed soul when death's last pang is over, 
Standing contemplating the breathless clay 
Before she soars away 
Through starry spheres, so Dian o'er her lover, 
Wreathed with the mist purpureally bright, 
Stood, trembling with delight. 

XLIX. 

Endymion stirred ; his bosom swelled, for near it 
His heaving heart averred there stood the one 
He thence should love alone ; 
And though his lips were moveless, still his spirit 
Spoke with a lute-like voice, ringing and clear, 
To her secretest ear. 

L. 

" Divinest Dian, lily-breasted Dian ! 

Look down on me and bless me with thy love, 
Thou ! that hast round me wove 
Such heavenly dreams, that, though a simple scion 

Of one thy radiant peers may deem a clod, 

I seem to grow a God !" 
3# 



30 ENDYMION. [CANTO I. 

LI. 

She glanced above; the curious stars seemed brighter; 
Peering with laughing eyes ; and whispers crept 
From where the woodlands slept ; 
The flowrets shook ; the very night grew lighter ; 
The lake seemed smiling at her, 'till her frame 
Tingled and blushed with shame. 

LII. 

She waved her rosy fingers ; gently swelling, 

Rose from the lake, the fountain and the ground, 
A mist which sailed around 
Shrouding the scene, flowing and floating, swelling 
In fitful forms, wave over wave, on high 
Spirally to the sky. 

LIII. 

Orange and amethyst, emerald and yellow, 
Crimson, and violet deep yet dimly blue 
As heaven's cerulean hue, 
It rose ; and then a cadence sweet and mellow 

Fell on his ravished ears, — " Unveil thine eyes ! 
Endymion — Love ! — arise !" 



ENDYMION. 



WVWV»/>/>» l >/V»rf^V* 



CANTO II. 



I 



ENDYMION. 



CANTO II. 

I. 

What time the lessening stars, like ghosts, were paling 
Before the growing influence of the dawn, 
Gradually waxing wan — 
What time, like Carthaginian galleys sailing 
O'er sun-lit seas, the clouds an amber stain 
Flung on the Latmian main, 

II. 

Slumbering Endymion lay, — his white arms folded 
Over his whiter chest; while, like a girl's, 
His long and golden curls 

Diademed a form that even in sleep seemed moulded 

The Ideal of a God, left ere the hand 

Creating, bade it stand. 

c (33) 



34 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

III. 

Instinct with heavenly essence ; and his bosom 
Arose and fell as heaves and falls the sea ; 
And round his lips the bee 
Hovered enchanted, for, as from a blossom, 

The delicate perfume of his odorous breath 
Curled in a misty wreath. 

IV. 

Sudden the sun-light came, and, shining o'er him, 
Kissed him upon his sleeping eyes, and flew, 
Dancing along the dew, 
Toward the swart shadows of the grove before him, 
That trembled to it. He awoke : — But where 
His Goddess ? Gone in air ! 

V. 

He sprang erect, — a thousand dew-drops glancing 

From off his limbs, like showers of stars that sink 
From the empyrean's brink, — 
And standing, like a statue, unadvancing, 

Gazed slowly round, his wondering soul aghast, 
Seeking to grasp the Past. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 35 

VI. 

Was he awake ? for lo ! the laurelled mountain 

Remained unchanged, as cycles since it frowned, 
With hoary hemlocks crowned : t 
And mist and buds and flowers and bird and fountain 
Had faded, flown or sunk. His sense half gone, 
Endymion stood alone. 

VII. 

He saw the moon, mild, meek and melancholy, 
Sink 'neath the arrows of the sun, and wane; 
And heard the throstle's strain 
Rise from the valley, while, like one that slowly 

Wakes from a dream, and by degrees perceives 
He slept, and so believes 

VIII. 

All the creations of his sleep a vision, 

And still is loth to believe it, with his mind 
Veering like April wind, 
He stood in doubt, half-thinking the Elysian 
Delights he had enjoyed, the fitful theme 
Of a distempered dream. 



36 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

IX. 

And then he paused. Were the ethereal kisses 

Whose flame yet fired his veins, the wild embrace, 
When, trembling, face to face 
He stood with Dian, the ecstatic blisses 

Maddening his memory — fancies ? Fancies ! No ! 
Too fervent was their glow ! 



It was no dream. Around his senses flowing 
Was music not of earth : his very heart 
Strove struggling to dispart, 
So full was it of heaven : his soul seemed growing 
A Titan's, striving in its strength to break 
Its fetters, and awake 

XI. 

Again in Dian's presence. Like an eagle 

That, caged, repines, he strove to rend his bars 
And soar unto the stars. 
Wild dreams and w T ilder hopes of glories regal 

Flashed o'er his soul, and glancing proudly back, 
He scorned his shepherd track. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 37 

XII. 

Why was this sudden, this sublimed emotion, 

Were all a dream ? Whence was his soul so full — 
He being clay so dull — 
Of high aspirings, that it heaved, an ocean, 

Leaping impetuous toward the sapphire skies 
Which seemed to bid it rise ? 

XIII. 

It was no dream ; but yet his human spirit 

Felt blind, as one feels when a sudden light 
Breaks on the eyes at night : 
Weak in the consciousness of his own demerit, 

He could not compass what the gods had given, 
And paused in sight of heaven. 

XIV. 

But like the youthful eagle that, when gazing 
First on the sun, covers his eyes, yet turns 
To where the bright orb burns, 
Soaring with veiled lids, meeting its blazing 
At last, unconquered : so, Endymion's soul 
Finally grasped its goal. 
4 



38 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 



XV. 

Sighing he sought his flock. The partridge whirring 
Sprang at his feet unheard ; the wood-birds made 
Meadow and glen and glade 
Merry with melody ; hares, from slumber stirring, 
Pattered athwart his path ; and through the trees 
Swam swarms of buzzing bees. 

XVI. 

But all unnoticed. Over the dewy meadows 

His herd ran races — stopping, cropped the grass, 
Or, pausing o'er the glass 
Of crystal streams, beheld their snowy shadows, 
Bleating to find themselves reflected there, 
It seemed, afloat in air. 

XVII. 

Unheeding all, the listless shepherd threw him 

Among the shadows of an aged tree. 

Around the grassy lea 

His friends were sporting : yet his feelings drew him 

From merriment to muse in solitude : 

On the sweet past to brood. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 39 

XVIII. 

He heard their songs, their reedy pipes, unheeding 
Or song or strain, and saw them in the dance ; 
And yet, like one in trance, 
Who sees what passes, yet whom sleep is leading 
Away from knowledge, lay, his busy brain 
Throbbing with thoughts of pain. 

XIX. 

At last, all missed him, and at once discerning 
His distant form, wondered why he that led 
Their mirth should lie with head 
Hid in his hands, and, as it were, inurning 

Himself in shadow. At once their songs were ended, 
Their sylvan sports suspended. 

XX. 

" Chromia," quoth one, " Endymion, whom thou lovest, 
Shrouds him from sight. What is it thou hast done 
To wound our gentle one ? 
Art thou so cruel that with scorn thou provest 
His fervent faith, and leavest him alone 
To silence making moan?" 



40 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

XXL 

" Go to him, Chromia, and with bland beguiling 

Woo him to dance with us." The maid replied, — 
"Alas ! I am decried ! 
Last night my white-browed lover left me, smiling ; • 
The morn, deserting me, he shuns my eye — 
O ! Jove, that I might die !" 

XXII. 

But still she went, though very sad and drooping, 
Toward the day-dreamer, who apparently slept, 
And slow and noiselessly stept 
Where he reclined; when, gradually stooping, 

She kissed his pallid brow. His cheeks alight 
Crimson with deep delight, 

XXIII. 
Deeming her Dian, he rose, his glances flowing 

With streams of passionate love ; but seeing who 
stood 
Before him, all his blood 
Rushed to his brow. Coldly, like one unknowing 
Who it was came, he turned in sullen scorn, 
Leaving the maid forlorn. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 41 

XXIV. 

Chromia looked on him, all her frame congealing 
Slowly to stone. Pale, palsied, mute, aghast, 
Statue-like, as he passed, 
She stood ; and for so long, that each one feeling 

All was not well, ran toward her; when she turned, 
And each, at once discerned 

XXV. 

That she was mad ; for her large eyes ran o'er them 
Unconscious, blankly, and like those of death : 
Heaving a long-drawn breath, 
Sudden she turned, and, shrieking, fled before them. 
Some followed her affrighted ; others went 
To the youth in wonderment. 

XXVI. 

He stood awaiting them, — imperial, stately, 

And like a God. Stricken with awe they gazed, 
As, like twin comets, blazed 

His lurid eyes. He spoke ; they wondering greatly ; 
For in his voice and language dwelt a strange 

And sad, but noble change. 

4# 



42 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

XXVII. 
"Shepherds," said he, "what would ye with me?" 
turning 
Upon them all the terror of his eyes. 
" What thoughts within ye rise ? 
See ye aught strange in me V 9 " Your cheeks are 
burning," 
Quoth one, " with feverish flame. Where have you 
been? 
What awful horror seen? 

XXVIII. 
" Tell us, Endymion !" And they bent to listen. 
Endymion, breathing long, replied, " I will ! 
Upon the Latmian hill, 
Where, as ye know, the moon-beams soonest glisten, 
The twilight saw me standing near the lake 
That sleeps beside the brake. 

XXIX. 

" Flushed with the heavy heat, I thought the water 
Would cool my languid limbs : so, doffed my dress 
And sought the waves' caress. 
Just then, the moon, Latona's stainless daughter 
Rose o'er my head — what time I swam is lost, 
My soul's so passion-tost! 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 43 



XXX. 

" But when I reached the shore, all scents excelling, 
Strange sweets beguiled my senses ; silver strains 
Seemed swimming through my veins. 
All round were flowers. There leapt a fountain welling 
Through velvet mosses, showering pearly flame. 
Suddenly swam my name, 

XXXI. 

" Pronounced in golden song, as said in sorrow ; 

And then I fainted. But my swoon brought dreams, 
Such lustrous, dazzling dreams — 
So great, so grand, that never more a morrow 

I sought to see ; for in them, wreathed with light, 
Great Dian blessed my sight !" 

XXXII. 

Endymion paused, for (while all stood in wonder,) 
The day grew slowly dark; but still he spake, 
And as his utterance brake 
Clear on the solemn silence, sudden thunder 

Rolled through the skies ; and yet the youth went on, 
Though all around were wan. 



44 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

XXXIII. 

" She stood before me, with her snowy bosom 
Naked and throbbing ; passion in her eyes ; 
Assailing me with sighs. 
A strange, wild hope began to bud and blossom 

Within my brain, and, though the child of Jove, 
I wooed her for my love. 

XXXIV. 

" She seemed irresolute, but suddenly waving 

Her heavenly hand, a mist rose slowly round, 
Shrouding the enchanted ground. 
She bade me rise" — " Endymion, thou art raving !" 
Exclaimed the shepherds, shaken with awful fear 
Lest She he should revere 

XXXV. 

Would smite him dead. Endymion's face seemed clouded 
That they believed not, but it passed. " Though 
sad," 
Said he, " I am not mad, 
Nor do I rave. There, as I told ye, shrouded 

With clouds were we — I, sleeping ; she, awake— 
And, as I said, she spake, 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 45 

XXXVI. 

" Bidding me rise. My soul at once departed 
Out of my body. That which was my soul, 
Defying all control, 

Pressed Dian to its breast " That moment darted, 

Endymion speaking, such a lightning flash, 
And burst so loud a crash 

XXXVII. 

Of thunder, that the shepherds fled affrighted 

From the blasphemer, fearing they should share 
His death or his despair ; 
While he, discerning that his words invited 

This ominous change, yet ignorant why, dismayed, 
Sank on his knees, and prayed. 

XXXVIII. 

" Hear me, O ! Dian ! If 'tis thou that speakest, 
Hear me !" he cried. " 'Tis better I should die 
Than meet thy angry eye. 
Let fall thy bolts, if my poor life thou seekest : 
Adoring thee, I still will bless the blow 
That lays my manhood low. 



46 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 



XXXIX. 

" It will be sweet to fall by thee, and dying 

I shall know greater bliss than life can give, 
Since it is hell to live 
Fired by these new desires — this high o'er-flying 
Of earth's realities: then, if as my soul 
Brings me to think, my goal 

XL. 

" Shall be some sphere beyond the intensest azure, 

Where, with thy Nymphs, 'neath jewel-fruited trees, 
On emerald-gleaming leas, 
Thou passest all thy hours in sylvan pleasure, 
Hunting ethereal deer, there shall I be 
Happiest, beholding thee! 

XLI. 

" But if, as doubters say, the grave's the portal 
That opens only on chaotic gloom, 
Then shall I in my tomb 
Forget thee and forever, O ! immortal, 

Supernal Dian, who even now lookest down 
On me, with awful frown." 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 47 

XLIL 

As if the Goddess heard, and hearing, heeded, 
And heeding, pitied love so wild and deep, 
The tempest sank to sleep ; 
When, as the gloomy ground puts forth the beeded 
And sapphire violets at winter's death, the clouds 
Doffing their funeral shrouds 

XLIII. 

And folding solemnly their sombre pinions, 

Let out the blue between; then slowly slid 
From sight, and sinking, hid, 
Where in the darkness of their dense dominions 

Stalk the grim, gaunt and ghastly ghosts of Old, 
Thin, weak and icy cold. 

XLIV. 

Day faded ; and the purple sun-set slowly 

Threw heavenly splendors o'er the earthly scene; 
A spiritual mien, 
Soothing, subdued, serene, soft, solemn, holy, 

Shedding on all, giving each heart full quiet, 
Save his, where love ran riot. 



48 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

XLV. 

Sadly Endymion wandered o'er the valley, 

Through slowly darkening woods, by blackening 
streams, 
'Till Phoebus his last beams 
Cast on the tree-tops. Ceasing then to dally, 
He mounted Latmos : and at last, again, 
Stood on its summit plain. 

XLVI. 

Trembling with hope and fear, he stood, while grimly 
Darkness descended — Darkness, child of Night ! — 
With slowly circling flight, — 
And watched the East, where, distantly and dimly, 
The moon, through ebon gloom, of splendor shorn, 
Arose, weak, wan and worn. 

XL VII. 

Throughout the heavens were rifts of clouds that drifted 
Hurriedly o'er her face, and all the stars, 
Save the stern planet Mars, 
Had shrunk from sight ; but when the gloom was lifted — 
As soon it was — one, here and there, alone, 
With sickly lustre shone. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 49 

XLVIII. 

Endymion stood and watched, his spirit shrouded 
With gloom like to a pall, as the moon rose 
Coldly, the while he froze ; 
For, from the icy North, dark, raven-clouded, 

Shrilled gusts of wind that chilled him, and he grew 
As stone beneath the dew. 

XLIX. 

Slowly his senses left him and he fainted ; 

And as he fell, there, spectral, wan and pale, 
Stood Dian with a wail 
On her blue lips, and cheeks that seemed as painted 
With stripes of scalding tears; and from her brow, 
In damp, dishevelled flow, 

L. 

Trembled her tresses, while her frame was shaking 
With gusts of grief. All ghostly stood she there, 
A form of thinnest air, 
Making deep moans, but thinking not of waking 

The senseless youth. Her pallid hands she w r rung, 
Then spake with sorrowing tongue. 
5 D 



50 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LI. 

"Alas ! alas ! Endymion," said she, weeping, 

" How had I loved thee had thy love been true ! 
Why, why didst thou undo 
Thyself and me ? The secret in thy keeping 

How durst thou breathe ? Ah ! me, my silver fame 
Is stained with spots of shame ! 

LII. 

" Thou wast too vain : I should have known thee better 
And cautioned thee. To one that loved thee so, 
How couldst thou bring such woe ? 
Had I been earthly woman, thou my debtor 

For favor shown, thou hadst been silent. Well 
Thy folly broke the spell ; 

LIII. 

"And, traitor, what remains to thee ? A sorrow 
That has no end, save death ; for, never more 
This side the Stygian shore 
Shalt thou fold woman's form, or else the morrow 
Beholds thee — dead : the lip that lay on mine 
Shall know no meaner shrine : 



CANTO n.] ENDYMION. 51 

LIV. 

" This is thy punishment and mine ! for lonely 
Henceforth am I, and if thy grief is great? 
Think what must be my fate, 
Who am immortal. Thine is agony only 
Enduring for a day, the woe of earth ; 
Mine has a loftier birth ; 

LV. 

"And as the Cimmerian shades of Styx are denser 
Than those of Night, so, deeper is my gloom, 
And heavier my doom, 
I being a God, which makes my agony tenser, 
And also woman, so my passion wrings 
My heart with scorpion stings. 

LVI. 

"Awake, arise Endymion ! Henceforth ever 

My memory haunts thee, as thy memory me ; 
And sad one, it must be 
To thee a madness ; for a fordless river 

Shall roar between us : yet, by frequent prayer 
(Much may be done by prayer), 



52 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LVII. 

" This have I won from Jove — that, being haunted 
By constant sorrow, if with steadfast faith 
(And true love knows no death), 
Thou keep'st my image, and with eye undaunted 
Meet'st evils which shall compass thee, — in sleep 
That shall be sweet, long, deep, 

LVIII. 

" Still may I cheer thee ; and when thou, declining, 
Diest, thy death shall give thee endless youth, 
A Godhead and a ruth 
For what thou wast ; for as the sun reclining 
In Indian skies outshines the simple cars 
That bear the feeble stars, 

LIX. 

" So shall thy bliss surpass all earthly blisses : 
My love shall overgrow thee like a vine ; 
And shadowing me with thine, 
Together through Olympian wildernesses 
Wandering, eternity shall waste away 
In the waning of a day I" 









CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 53 

LX. 

Endymion rose, with outstretched hands imploring 
Dian to pause ; but nothing, save a haze, 
Met his astonished gaze. 
The amber-circled moon, behind a lowering 

And gloomy cloud was sinking: desolate Night 
Sat only in his sight. 

LXI. 

Was this a dream ? — This, too, the vague ideal 

Of a distempered brain ? The wonders growing 
Each moment greater, flowing 
Grandly around him, fancies ? No, too real, 
Too sadly real they ! — Blest, he had cast 
His bliss in folly past. 

LXII. 

Through the dense darkness wearily he wandered 
Along, athwart the sacred spot, 'till day 
Rose in the Orient way. 
And then, more calm, but grieving he had squandered 
Such holy hopes, he turned and sought the vale, 
Even as its lilies, pale. 
5* 



54 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LXIII. 

Treasuring each word his heavenly love had uttered, 
And pondering on them, maddening, as he came 
Among his friends, a flame 
Seemed roaring round him, and his senses fluttered 

With too much woe. Tottering he sank and swooned 
Upon the grassy ground. 

LXIV. 

Clustering about him, every eye-lash glistening 
With tears of pity — for Endymion 
From earliest youth had won 
Their simple love, — and bending o'er him, listening 

If he still breathed, they leant. Bathing his brow, 
They saw a rosy glow 

LXV. 

Creep o'er his cheek. He stirred, and with a shiver 
Tremblingly rose. Some brought him wine ; some 
food. 
Fiercely he ate, and stood 
Again revived, though still a gentle quiver 

Ran o'er his limbs ; at last his faintness fled. 
Sudden a shepherd said, 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 55 

LXVI. 

"Alas, for our Endymion ! he hath slumbered 

In Dian's rays, and they have woven a strain 
Whose sweetness crushed his brain. 
Poor moon-struck youth ! what happy hours he numbered 
With dove-eyed Chromia : now, his bridal bed 
Shall only bear him — dead." 

LXVII. 

"Thou liest !" exclaimed Endymion fiercely. " Try me 
If I am mad. Yon is the sky, and thou 
Hsephestion ; there the brow 
Of Latmos kisses heaven ; floating by me, 
Seeking its sire the sea, yon river flows ; 
There golden Phoebus glows. 

LXVIII. 

" Discourse with me, and learn from me that madness 
(Even were I mad,) is reason so sublimed 
That it is inter-chimed 

With Jove's own thoughts. And more ! This solemn 
sadness 
At which ye scoff, is offspring of my folly 
In whispering secrets holy. 



56 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LXIX. 

" Ye look on me with wonder, seeing changes 

In me from what I was. Well, I am changed, 
And being so, estranged 
From such as ye ; for my proud spirit ranges 
Beyond the stars, basks in Olympian light 
And scorns its pristine night. 

LXX. 

" Chromia ! — I loved her once — Alas, sweet maiden 
Whose soul, so lily-white, bowed down to mine 
As to high Here's shrine ! 
Great is my grief that I must leave her laden 
With swarthy sorrow ; but it is her fate : 
I, too, am desolate !" 

LXXI. 

And like a child succumbing to emotion 

Endymion wept, but with a haughty heart 
Strode silently apart, 
Covering his face. At once a loud commotion 

Ran through the crowd, and threats and savage cries 
Rose fiercely toward the skies. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 57 

LXXII. 

Proudly he turned, and stern, and smiling coldly? 
With lofty scorn illumining his face, 
" Death !" said he, " 'Twill erase 
The bitter Past. Shepherds, behold how boldly 
I stand to meet it." As he spoke a strain 
Of harmony swept the plain. 

LXXIIL 

It was a hymn which, faint and far, ascended 

To awful Jove, — a prayer of peace — and slowly, 
Arrayed in vestments holy, 
Appeared the priests, who, at first sight seemed blended 
Like shadows with the shadows of the wood. 
In the stern throng they stood. 

LXXIV. 

Astonishment imprinted on each feature, 

They gazed around; but when the patriarch learned 
The cause of tumult, burned 
His sacred eyes uplifted. " Guilty creature," 

He murmured, trembling, " speak ! and speak the 
truth : 
Else dream not of my ruth !" 



58 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LXXV. 

"Father," replied Endymion, " though I humbly 
Acknowledge thy high office — though I feel 
Thy simple word can seal 
My future fate — still, like a statue, dumbly 

I must remain before thee : yet, to thy decree 
Shall bend my willing knee." 

LXXVI. 

" Thou hast blasphemed, proud boy !" " No, father, 
never ! 
Truth is not blasphemy. Thy Gods and mine 
Acknowledge it divine. 
The past is mine and must remain so ever, 

The rest I leave to heaven. Now, work your will, 
I can be patient still." 

LXXVII. 

The aged patriarch stood in silent wonder — 

Silent with rage — while from the angry crowd 
A murmur growing loud 
As the far growling of awakening thunder 

Rose hoarsely on the wind. He waved his hand, 
And silence ruled the band. 



CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 59 

LXXVIII. 

Then spake the passionate patriarch, — " Idle, dreaming, 
Perverse, blasphemous boy, and mad, begone ! 
Hence, wander forth alone ! 
The Gods have punished thee ; the fiery gleaming 
Of thy great eyes proclaims it. We are free 
From sin — so banish thee ! 

LXXIX. 

" Leave us — Accursed, and by all forsaken ! 

Repent thy sins. Those that thou scornd'st, in turn, 
! fool ! scorn thee ! Forlorn 
In the grey wilderness — if such may be — awaken 
Again to sense ; and then, to senseless stones 
Give penitential groans." 

LXXX. 

"'Tis just,oldman — most just, when over-leaping 
Thee and thy fellows with a knowledge they 
Call madness — that my way 
Should be distinct from theirs. I go, and keeping 
AH to myself, turn to the wilderness 
As to a bride's caress. 



60 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. 

LXXXI. 

" Farewell ! Be kind to Chromia, and remember 

Me as one long since dead." With eyes that burned 
To weep, Endymion turned 
Proudly away, crushing hope's smouldering ember, 
And with a stately step walked sternly forth, 
A wanderer o'er the earth. 



E N D Y M I N. 



CANTO III. 



ENDYMION. 



CANTO III. 

I. 

'T was autumn on the mountain : fluttering, falling, 
Lifted or sinking on the breeze that rolled 
Shrill, sharp and icy cold 
From the white North, and low and mournfully calling 
One to the other, yellow, golden, brown, 
The withering leaves came down. 

II. 

All round was wasting, save the pines that proudly 
Sustained their primal heads, and one stout oak 
That, gnarled and mossy, broke 
Out of a sheltered hollow, where it loudly 

Creaked in the wind: and it seemed stricken; for 
now 
A hoar-frost marked its brow — 

(63) 



64 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 



III. 

An untimely frost, for still the valley greenly 

Shone as in summer, while the circling plain 
Glittered with grass and grain. 
Beside the rivers that were glistening queenly 

'Tween dewy banks, were scattered herds of sheep, 
Lying in peaceful sleep. 

IV. 

A cliff looked down upon the valley. Reaching 
Across the gulf, a blasted hemlock leant, — 
A tree by lightning rent — 
Dead ere its time ; and on it, faintly stretching 
Its feeble neck, a falcon sat alone, 
Deserted, making moan. 

V. 

A hunter's shaft had stricken him, when soaring 

Through the blue air; and now, his plumage soiled, 
His limbs of strength despoiled, 
He sat, supremely desolate, while roaring 

The mountain w T inds swept round him, bearing past 
The dead leaves, falling fast. 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 65 

VI. 

Flight after flight of crows swept by, descending, 
Cawing, seeking the south ; and, scarce in sight, 
So lofty was their height, 
Flew lines of cranes, their shadowy figures blending 
Slowly with shadow, till the distant skies 
Wrapped them from human eyes. 

VII. 

Mournfully from the withering woods a moaning 
Rose on the wind — the wail of Dryads pale ; 
And from a mountain dale 
Echoed the pipe of Pan — Pan, who was groaning 
Over the dying season — Satyr Pan, 
A God, mourning like man. 

VIII. 

There was a crackling of the leaves, and screaming 
The falcon proudly strove to soar, but fell 
Heavily toward the dell, 
As suddenly, while over Latmos gleaming 

Trembled the sunrise, in the sylvan scene 
Stood one of noble mien. 
6* e 



66 ENDYM10N. [CANTO HI. 

IX. 

He was not old ; and yet his hair, though golden, 
Was mixed with silver, and his pallid brow 
Paler beneath its flow, 
Revealed the lingering marks that age or olden 

Care had imprinted there: his eyes were fraught 
With sadness and deep thought. 

X. 

His cheek was ashen-wan ; his figure, stooping ; 
And yet a beauty, like that painters trace 
Pourtraying Gods, his face 
And form displayed ; while, though there was a drooping 
About the man, a majesty remained 
As in one self-sustained. 

XI. 

A snowy tunic, edged with gold, was belted 
About him, fitting perfectly ; while fell, 
In many a fold and swell, 
A toga from his shoulders, whence, as melted 
One with the other, many a glistening gem 
Ran rippling down its hem. 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 67 

XII. 

A helm was on his brow, a cuirass sparkled 
Beneath his robe, and at his girdle hung 
A massive sword which rung 
With every movement : — from his helmet darkled 
A mass of plumes, that, swaying in the wind, 
Drooped gracefully behind. 

XIII. 

Pausing, the warrior stood, perchance retracing 
The wastes of memory ; and in pensive mood, 
Through shadowy glens pursued 
Old recollections — like a child, erasing 

The present from his mind. A sudden start— 

A heaving of the heart — 

. XIV. 

A lifting of the eye-brows, and a gleaming 
Of sentient eyes — and suddenly he strode 
Adown the rocky road. 
'Twas now broad day. He saw the meadows beaming 
With morning light, and far away — so far, 
The harmony of a star 



68 ENDYMION. [CANTO in. 

XV. 

It seemed — floated a shepherd's song, whose falter 

Was like his heart's ; and with 't he felt the blush 
Of boyish memories rush 
Warm to his cheek and brow. As at an altar, 
He stood in thought. Recovering, again 
He sought the distant plain. 

XVI. 

Entering the woods that, like an arm enfolding 

The mountain's base, spread wide, he heard a 
humming 
Of many voices. Coming 
Slowly more near, he found the speakers holding 

Council, while accents, fraught with timorous fear, 
Struck his attentive ear. 

XVII. 

Parting the interlacing twigs, he stood, surveying 
The timid group. The patriarch was there, — 
Old priests with hoary hair, — 
Sages with wrinkled brows, — and youths a Maying 
Party seemed fitter for, than sword or shield, 
Or strife on the red field. 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 69 

XVIII. 

" Brothers/' exclaimed the elder of the sages, 
" We are too weak to struggle. Let us send 
Envoys, and humbly bend 
Before these Phrygians ; for their army rages, 
Boar-like, around us. We can then enjoy 
Our homes with small alloy." 

XIX. 

" Rather," returned a youth with passion, " drive them 
Like deer before us. Know, though we are few, 
If we are firm and true — 
True to ourselves — our honest hands shall rive them 
Of all they rent from us. No tribute ! None ! 
To arms each Carian son !" 

XX. 

" But who shall lead ye V 9 asked the sage. " A craven, 
Unmanly fear is on us, ignorant as we are 
Of deeds, or art of war. 
Our peaceful life — watching our flocks — has shaven 
Our limbs of strength. Go to, proud boy, be dumb! 
'Tis better to succumb." 



70 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 



XXI. 

The stranger heard, trembling with rage, his figure 
Rising majestic, and his practised hand 
Grasped his great brand. 
He had been weak, but now a sudden vigor 

Coursed through his frame, which quivered with 
his ire: 
His very veins were fire. 

XXII. 

He sprang among them. " Shepherds," said he, " listen 
And fear not \" But in tremulous amaze 
They leapt apart, each gaze 
Earnest with dread. " Nay, never let the glisten 
Of steel appal ye. At a single blade 
Are Latmians thus dismayed ? 

XXIII. 

" Be firm ; be brave : I am a friend. Go, gather 

Your rusted arms : I '11 lead ye ! Were your foe 
A myriad, rise ! and lo ! 
He falls before ye. Jove is with ye, rather 

Sustaining right than might. Yours is the right : 
What fear ye from the fight V 9 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 71 



XXIV. 

He paused. " To arms ! To arms !" arose like thunder, 
Startling the mountain from its stony sleep ; 
Whose response, loud and deep, 
Broke on their ears, like sound of surf that under 

Black, beetling cliffs, breaks on a craggy strand, 
Shaking the granite land. 

XXV. 

Like an old man awoke from midnight slumber, 

Pale, palsied, gazing round with tremulous fear, 
The forest far and near 
Heard it, and trembled. Doubts no more encumber 
The shepherd's souls. Each in his brother's eye 
Reads courage strong and high. 

XXVI. 

" But," asked the aged Patriarch, " noble stranger, 

Who and what art thou ? From what purple shore, 
What land with glory hoar, 
Comest thou to aid us? Art thou not a ranger 

Of the blue spheres ? Perchance, majestic Mars, 
The warrior of the stars !" 



72 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 

XXVII. 

" Who and what am I, or whence come — if mortal 
Or God/' replied he, smiling, " none may know. 
Go ; at once, warriors ; go 
Burnish your arms ; and at the forest's portal 
Meet me at noon, attired in steel array : 
Night sees us far aw T ay. 

XXVIII. 

"Now, soldiers, hence!" Like those that felt, and feeling 
The presence of some loftier being, bend 
Unquestioning, they wend 
Among the trees. Like silent shadows, stealing, 
Some, one way, some, the other, they are gone. 
The stranger stands alone. 

XXIX. 

Not long he stands ; for soon Apollo, rounding 
The mighty globe, flashes his fiercest rays, 
Piercing the forest ways. 
Time passes, and remembering — lightly bounding; 
For love of glory, in that hour, with strength 
Endued his limbs — at length 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 73 

XXX. 

He reached the appointed spot, — a sentience swelling 
To being in him, that his hand should clasp 
Some greatness which his grasp 
'Till then had sought in vain. High thoughts came 
welling, 
Like springs in granite, through his soul, which rose 
Superior to its woes. 

XXXI. 

Under a mighty oak, w T hose noon-tide shadow 
Slept at its foot, he musingly reclined 
With proud, but pensive mind. 
Sudden ! a sharp, shrill scream along the meadow 
Startled his ears. He rose, as through the sky 
Floated that piercing cry. 

XXXII. 

And, as he sprang erect, a pard, cinque-spotted, 
Bearing a lamb, toward the near forest dashed, 
Unseeing him, while crashed 
The twigs before it, and the leaves, half-rotted, 

Crackled beneath its tread. The forest's night 
Concealed its further flight. 
7 



7i ENDYMION. CANTO III.] 

xxxin. 

Swiftly the stranger followed, — disappearing 

In the dense undergrowth. Scarce had he gone, 
When slowly, one by one, 
Arrived the shepherds, each new-comer peering 
In his companion's face with smiles, that there 
He saw no shade of fear. 

XXXIV. 

As yet they stood — the while, their doubts beguiling 
With warlike songs, the stranger with the dead 
Pard and the lamb, and red 
With conflict, came in haste, serenely smiling, 

And paused among them. " Friends," said he, 
" behold ! 
This leopard, scarcely cold, 

XXXV. 

" Attacked yon herd. I saw the deed, and, starting 
In swift, pursuit, destroyed him. Awful Jove 
Regards our acts with love : 
This omen breathes it. Follow me, and darting 

Like lightning on these Phrygians, win a crown 
Of ever-bright renown." 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 75 



XXXVI. 

Responsive rose their cries, the concave rending, 
Rousing the echoes; and their brazen shields 
Striking, each warrior wields 
His massive brand. "Away ! The day is blending 
With shadowy eve," they shouted. " Let us go: 
We burn to face the foe ! 



XXXVII. 

" Revenge or death ! We languish for the slaughter ! 
Hurrah !" The stranger heard, his eye ablaze, 
Gleaming with lurid rays, 
And wide dilated. " Yes," cried he, " like water, 

Spill their base blood : death else to all our band- 
Death for your father land ! 

XXXVIII. 

" Now, let us pray." They knelt, with accents solemn, 
Entreating Jove ; then rose, and gathering, formed, 
Each heart with phrenzy warmed, 
Proudly before their chief, in serried column. 

" Forward !" he cried ; — and soon in solitude 
Slept the majestic wood. 



70 ENDYM10N. [CANTO III. 

XXXIX. 

Days glided by like dreams ; and one sweet morning — 
A warm, bright morn in autumn — when the skies 
Were placid as the eyes 
Of those that watched — when, gloriously adorning 
The yellowing plains with golden light, Apollo 
Peopled each glen and hollow 

XL. 

With radiant rays — sudden — far distant — ringing 
Arose a clarion's silver note. The sound 
Fluttered and floated round, 
Like an embodied cloud singing, while swinging 
Poised in mid air. The Spirit of the Wind, 
Pale Echo — who had pined 

XLI. 

For days, in dim and silent glades, in sadness, 

Wanting the shepherd's songs — took up the strain, 
And murmured o'er the plain 
Aerial response. Thronging, wild with gladness, 

Rushed forth both old and young, and many a 
maiden 
With anxious love o'erladen. 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 77 

XLII. 

Louder arose the clarion's silver thunder; 

Louder and prouder; while the listeners gazed 
One on the other, 'mazed 
With too much bliss ; for in its notes, that under 

The fretted woods, along the streams, and through 
The concave's circling blue, 

XLIII. 

Floated, was triumph — triumph great and glorious ! 
And over ancient Latmos flashed the lightning 
Of armour grandly brightening 
In the red sun. " Io, O ! Io ! Lo ! they come, victorious ! 
Sisters ! away to where the laurel grows ! 
Bays for our victor's brows !" 

XLIV. 

Through the green woods they hasten, gathering blossoms 
And wreathing chaplets, as the clarion near, 
And nearer, and more clear, 

Rings on the silence, while their swelling bosoms 

Heave to its notes. Loudly the cymbals, ringing, 

Clang to the maidens' singing, 
7* 



78 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 

XLV. 

Then joyously they mingle, while the prancing 

Of steeds comes nearer, and the clank of steel, 
And trumpet tones that reel 
On the clear air; when forth, with dizzy dancing, 
And song, and sylvan mirth, they haste to greet 
Their friends' returning feet. 

XL VI. 

Grandly they come : each manly bosom swelling 
With glorious joy ; — each eye aflame with fire. 
Nigher they come and nigher — 
Nigher and nigher, 'till each homely dwelling 

Stands full in sight ; and then, despite their years, 
The warriors pause in tears. 

XLVII. 

But, through the woods, even while their eye-lids glis- 
tened, 
Swell over swell, arose the welcome home. 
And now their kinsmen come, 
Chaunting their paeans, as entranced they listened, 
Leaning upon their spears ; when, loud, a shout 
Like thunder leapt from out 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 79 

XLVIII. 

Their trembling lips ; the sun-light on their lances 

Flashed silver flame, and even the murmuring air, 
Delighted, seemed to share 
Their joyous madness. Proud each war-horse prances, 
Spurning the ground — proudly as though he trod, 
Backed by some warrior-god. 

XLIX. 

The stranger came ; gleaming his armour golden ; 

Snowy his plumes; while from his brow a joyance 
Displaced the pale annoyance 
That grief or time had made. Like to an olden 
Knight of romance, he ruled his restless steed, 
Spurring him o'er the mead. 

L. 

There was a shout of welcome — a commotion 
Of many voices — and each loving one 
Had singled out her own ; 
But, like a desert isle in some dark ocean, 

Which none, save God has seen, the stranger only 
Sat in his glory lonely. 



80 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 

LI. 

He signed ! — The clarion's voice, like thunder rolling, 
Disturbed their joy. Obedient to its call 
The soldiers slowly fall 
Once more in ranks, with sinewy arms controlling 
Their snorting steeds : then, at the word, again 
Rode toward their native plain. 

LII. 

Once more the Latmian shepherds stand assembled, 
The priests, the people, and the wrinkled seer 
Of many a hoary year, 
Sitting in council ; while each bosom trembled 

Lest he, their warrior, should depart. One rose, — 
A man of many snows, — 

LIII. 

And spake. " Children," said he, " our bold defender, — 
Our champion, — he, who was our guard, — 
What shall be his reward ? 
We must be just. What is it we can render 

To him for these great joys ? What joy as great? 
What grand — what golden estate? 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 81 

LIV. 

" Remember, that he came when war had kindled 

His torches at our hearths — when, weak as deer, 
We fled, aghast with fear, 
Before our hunters — when our strength had dwindled 
To nothing : none to govern ; none to guide. 
The world, I grant, was wide: 

LV. 

" Yet, 't was not Caria. What had we been, banished 
From our old homes ? On what tempestuous strand 
Could we have found a land 
Which would have welcomed us 1 He came : woe 
vanished 
Like mist in sun-light. Now, our soil is free 
As the unfettered sea. 

LVI. 

" Shall he depart, then ? Sons, it were a story 
To sully through all time the Carian name — 
A bitter, blighting shame 
To dim the grandeur of our novel glory 

And blast our triumph. Ay, and should he go, 
What then ? Our ancient foe 

F 



82 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 

LVII. 

" Would once more rush to crush us. Let our voices 
Proclaim our thanks ; and not in words alone, 
But acts. The Carian throne 
Let us bestow on him. Each heart rejoices 
In his great deeds, and his is our renown. 
Yield him the Latmian crown !" 

LVIII. 

The stranger rose in wonder, tears upstarting 

Filling his eyes. He would have spoken, but loud — 
As summer thunder loud — 
Leapt forth their shouts, like winged arrows, darting, 
Piercing the skies, as still he stood, and pale:— < 
" Hail ! King of Caria, hail I" 

LIX. 

But not alone from manly voices rushing 

Arose that cry ; for many a maiden gave 
Her treble to the w T ave 
Which floated o'er him. Every heart was gushing 
With rapturous joy, as, gazing o'er the field, 
Borne on a brazen shield, 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 83 

LX. 

Their new-made monarch bowed ; his glances beaming 
With joy as great. — Even while he stood, a maid 
Stole slowly o'er the glade — 
Slowly and sadly — with her tresses streaming 

Dishevelled o'er her robe. Among the throng, 
Making her way along, 

LXI. 

She gazed around with wondering looks, whose meekness 
Struck all with sadness, and filled many eyes 
With tears, and hearts with sighs. 
"Ah ! me," said one, "our Chromia ! In the weakness 
Of love she walks, seeking her banished one, — 
Our lost Endymion." 

LXII. 

Parting, they let her pass, the while, regarding 
Them one by one, she stole from man to man, 
As pitying murmurs ran 
Through all. With patience that deserved rewarding 
She wandered unrewarded, desolate, 
Succumbing to her fate. 



84 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. 

LXIII. 

Leaning against an oak, she seemed a spirit, 
(For she was white as one, and all as fair,) 
As she stood nestling there 
Dove-like, love-stricken, and yearning to inherit 
Immortal life, that she might once more lie 
'Neath dead Endymion's eye. 

LXIV. 

" Carians," said the monarch, " why encumber 
Me with such honors — me, — a stranger, too, 
Unknown to all ! But do 
Even as ye will with me. The soothing slumber, 
The dreaming after toil I sought, alas ! 
I yield. Well, let it pass I" 

LXV. 

Sudden, the statue-like and silent maiden 

Sprang forward as convulsed : her heaving breast 
Swelling with wild unrest. 
" I take your gift," continued he, " though laden 
It is with cares. Henceforward be to me 
As I shall be to ye." 



CANTO HI.] ENDYMION. 85 

LXVI. 

Forward, still forward, with a music singing 

In ears that heard naught else, she passed. One 
glance 
As if in dizzy trance, 
She flung upon the king, whose voice came ringing 
Once more around, and then — her lips apart — 
Stood silent, save her heart. 

LXVII. 

The monarch, even as he beheld her, started — 
Some mental conflict pictured in his face, 
Which showed his mind's wide space 
Was filled with doubt and fear. It passed ; — and darted, 
Like sun-light from a cloud, a smiling glow 
O'er lip, and eye, and brow. 

LXVIII. 

Fixedly he gazed ; the maiden, pale and trembling, 

And silent : when, while anxious wonder crowned 
The looks of all around, 
Sudden he turned and spake — it seemed, dissembling 
Even with himself, for, with a frown, he said ; — 
" Whence comes this frantic maid ?" 
8 



86 endymion. [canto in. 

LXIX. 

That voice again ! 'T was music to her madness ! 

Eyes, brow, cheeks, lips aflame, she sprang and 
grasped 
His mantle's hem, and clasped 
His mailed knees, and gazed, trembling with gladness, 
Up in his face. " Nay ! Tell me, gentle maiden!" 
His voice with pity laden, 

LXX. 

Quoth he, " what wouldst thou ?" All the while a 
meaning 
Lighting his eyes ; and stooping, kissed her cheek. 
Gasping, she strove to speak, 
Struggling for breath, but could not, faintly leaning 
Against him for support ; while, as she leant, 
A calm and sweet content 

LXXI. 

Hallowed her features. Every movement weighing, 

The shepherds stood astonished ; but at last 

The aged patriarch passed 

Toward the pale maid, and touched her, sternly saying 

" Chromia, arise and hence. What means this 
strain V 9 

u No, priest ! She shall remain I" 



CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 87 

LXXII. 

Passionately exclaimed the king. " Pale, prostrate blos- 
som! 
My hand shall tend her. Priest, I claim her, I, 
Her king ! — Beloved, lie 
Here, and thy throne shall be this beating bosom. 
Well has thy fealty such guerdon won 
From thine Endymion !" 

LXXIII. 

" Endymion !" cried the patriarch, pale with wonder : 
"Endymion!" shrieked the maid. "Yes! yes! 
'T is he ! 
Brothers, behold him ! see, 
9 T is my Endymion !" Like a crash of thunder, 

" Endymion !" echoed all. " Endymion ! — Hail, 
Brother — King — Saviour — Hail !" 



E N D Y M I N. 



t^/VS/WWWV>^VN^« 



CANTO IV. 



8* 



ENDYMION. 



CANTO IV. 



A grassy dell, — a fragrant spot, secluded 

In noiseless woods, — a haunt for sylvan Pan, 
Where rarely step of man 
Startled the quiet, but where silence brooded 

Hushed as a dove, — slumbered in primal peace, 
The loveliest glen in Greece. 

II. 

The air was breathing gently. Trickling, gushing, 
Gurgling o'er rocks and moss, a brooklet sang, 
Sparkling, whenever it sprang 
From out the leafy gloom, its surface flushing 
Under the ardent glance of starry eyes, 
Scanning it from the skies. 

(91) 



92 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

III. 

A mossy oak, the Druid of the valley, 

Shadowed a basin that for centuries drew 
Its food from rain and dew, — 
A lonely lake, where Nereids loved to dally, 
And Dian's huntresses, at noon-tide, came, 
With lips and cheeks aflame. 

IV. 

Wreathing the oak, a honey-suckle, laden 

With coral corymbs, travelled toward its brow. 
From limb to limb, and bough 
To bough of the tall tree, it stole, — a Dryad maiden, 
Clinging with speechless transport to the breast 
Where nature bade her rest: 



And in their arms, unnoting their emotion, 

A dove reposed — his plumage on the night 
Making a milky light 
Among the sombre leaves. Afar, the ocean, 

Low but distinct, broke languidly on the reach 
Of the long desolate beach. 



I 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 93 

VI. 

His arm encircling her, just then a mortal, 

A mortal maiden with him, reached the glade. 
Few were the words they said, 
Yet sweet as few. It seemed Elysium's portal 

Was open to them, whence, through gates ajar, 
Shone love's delicious star. 



VII. 

Silent as statues were they, save their sighing 

And the audible beating of their happy hearts, — 
A throbbing that, by starts, 
As ever and anon the wind seemed dying, 

More felt than heard, swam in each other's ears, 
Like hymns from distant spheres. 

VIII. 

Endymion spoke. " Chromia," quoth he — a brightness 
Like that of new-born planets in his eyes — 
Tremulous his voice with sighs — 
" I am as one entranced. A fairy lightness, 
Rare as the fragrance of Olympian plains, 
Springs, dancing, through my veins. 



94 ENDYMION, [CANTO IV. 



IX. 

" My brain is drunk with music, floating, flowing, 

Sounding like songs of Gods ; dim, yet how sweet ; 
How delicate, but complete; 
Like strains the pensive primrose breathes in blowing ; 
Serene as sounds of kisses that the blue 
Violet gives the dew. 



X. 

" It was not so till now : a passionate gladness, 
Born of my old and fervent love for thee, 
Thrills me. Each thing I see 
Seems lovelier : yet, withal, a sound of sadness 
Sighs in my ears — the prescience of a sorrow 
To cross me on the morrow." 

XI. 

Just then the moon rose o'er the mountain, beaming 
Bright on his brow. Ere the first shades of even 
The orb was high in heaven. 
A chill ran o'er him, as her light fell streaming 

Pallidly round him, and his brow grew white — 
White with unearthly light. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 95 



XII. * 

" Ah me, Endymion," gasped the maiden, feeling 
The nervous trembling of his icy hand, 
" Why, you can scarcely stand ! 
What ails you ? You are ill. The dew is stealing 
Through your thin robes. Come, hasten toward 
your home. 
Let me conduct you. Come." 

XIII. 

Even as she spoke, she led him unresisting 
And feeble as a child away; but when 
The shadows of the glen 
Concealed the moon, he paused. The maid persisting, 
Had forced him thence, but that a moan of love 
Burst from the slumbering dove. 

XIV. 

A gentle sound it was, heartful with gladness, 

Which falling on Endymion's sense, like balm, 
Produced a pleasing calm : 
With it, too, vanished Chromia's sudden sadness, 
For from her lover's cheek the pallor fled : 
Recovering, he said: 



96 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XV. 

" Let us repose here, Chromia : I am stronger 

Though languid still. 'Twas but a spasm — no more. 
'Twill not be lon^ before 
I am myself again. Prythee, no longer 

Afflict thyself. Sit down, my gentle one — 
Here — on this mossy stone." 

XVI. 

Meanwhile, and as the embracing lovers entered 
The leafy shade, the planet, pale, but proud, 
Retired behind a cloud. 
Chromia regarding him in whom was centred 

Her earth and heaven, now spake. " Endymion, 
Dearest and noblest one, 

XVII. 

" Some mystery surely haunts, unapprehended 

By me, thy path. Else, wherefore came this strange 
Sudden and sorrowful change? 
Perhaps — I see it all — thou hast offended 
One of the Gods ! Alas ! if it be so, 
Woe to our future — w r oe !" 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMTON. 97 

XVIII. 

"Not so;" replied Endymion. " Mine is sorrow 

Strengthened by time. Never hath mortal man, 
Since the first century ran 
Its round of gladness, languished for a morrow 

Of perfect peace, as I have. Girl ! My sadness 
Was near akin to madness. 

XIX. 

"I have sought Lethe; but its ebon waters 
Advanced before, receding from my grasp. 
How often in their clasp 
I sought to sleep ! From Night's relentless daughters, 
The awful Fates, I have asked death — in vain : 
Begged it with burning brain. 

XX. 

" But this was in the Past, ere I had wrestled, 

Despairing, with Despair — when, on yon peak, 
While on my woe-worn cheek, 
Wooing away my woe with kisses, nestled 

The Latmian winds, I heard my sheep-bell's chime 
For the last bitter time. 
9 g 



98 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 



XXI. 

" I went my way, my passionate spirit yearning 
For action — action — action. All I sought 
Was to escape from thought. 
Volcano-like, my passionate heart was burning, 
Throwing its ashes on my phrenzied brain ; 
And lava was each vein. 



XXII. 

" Well ! Years rolled by. Over what purple oceans- 
Over what dim, deserted, desolate strands — 
Over what wondrous lands 
I passed, is little : through what fierce commotions 
I made my way, is less. At last, my home 
Was Rome — eternal Rome ! 

XXIII. 

" Behind me was the Tiber, Wide before me 

The city spread, — a world of sculptured stone, 
Whence sprang a sleepless moan 
Of many voices, surging over and o'er me, 

Like wakening thunder. Paiaces, like trees, 
Arose 'from marbie leas. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 99 

XXIV. 

"And temples, huge and massy as our mountains, 

Cast an eternal shadow on the ground ; 

And, in that shade, around, 

Were marble dragons, strange, ideal fountains, 

Whence, with a mighty bound, a sea of spray 

Sparkled, and sprang away. 

XXV. 

" There too the Gods we worship — (O, their glory !) — 
From spotless stone by lofty genius wrought, — 
Offspring of Titan thought — 
Arose gigantic ; while, before them, hoary 
Sages, and vestals lovelier than the light, 
Hymned to them day and night. 

XXVI. 

u Gold was as iron here, in strange profusion — 
The very people kings, and numberless — 
So strenuous was the press 
Of clustering thousands. And their wild diffusion! 
For all the earth seemed congregated there, 
To breathe the perfumed air. 



100 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XXVII. 

" Their warriors, Chromia ! Never, never, never 
Had I beheld such men ; for, with the sword, 
They made great Rome the lord 
Of earth and ocean, and a name for ever ! 

Surge over surge, returning from the wars 
They swept, those sons of Mars, 

XXVIII. 

" Like Deities by me, hailed with shouts, whose thunder 
Shook the surrounding walls. And then, their 
spoils, 
Acquired by giant toils, 
Rich as your dreams of heaven, girl ! Pale with wonder 
I saw them sweep away, — a fierce desire 
Flooding my soul with fire. 

XXIX. 

" I grew a warrior ; and the mountain eagle 

Sprang up among his fellows. Sweeping forth, 
Our screams alarmed the earth, 
For where we came, came death. The olden, regal 
Glories of centuries sank beneath the pinions 
Whose wind shook earth's dominions. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 101 

XXX. 

" But I grew sick of blood, and turned, how gladly 
I need not say, toward Caria. Weak and worn — 
For strange disease had torn 
My frame — in anguish, doubtfully and sadly, 
I took my way. Chromia, I came to sigh 
My life out here — to die." 

XXXI. 

" But why," said Chromia, her pale features glowing 
With loving pride, " this solemn sorrow? Why, 
Endymion, didst thou fly 
Thy native land ? Surely, some over-flowing 

Woe must have swept thy soul. For what didst 
roam 
From our loved Latmian home V 9 

XXXII. 

"Alas !" replied he, " I had forgotten, maiden, 
You knew not all — that my inhuman scorn, 
When I felt most forlorn, 

Had driven you mad. Chromia, my soul teas laden 

With grievous woe. Girl ! I was banished — driven 

Forth, scorned of earth and heaven !" 
9# 



102 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XXXIII. 

He told his simple tale, — how he saw Dian 

And she had blessed him with her love. "A dream 
It was," said he — " a gleam 
Born of my starry fancy — a sweet scion 

Reft from supernal spheres, that, taking root, 
Produced such bitter fruit. 

XXXIV. 

"At first, I deemed it real. There are stories, 
Chromia, dim with the dust of age, that tell 
How every dewy dell 
In golden Greece, hath seen the unveiled glories 
Of heavenly beauty — how the very trees, 
Shadowing our wood-land leas, 

XXXV. 

"The brooks, however small, and every river, 
Are haunts of spirits, who, it hath been said, 
Have often stooped to wed 
With earthly beings. Hourly, with a quiver 

Through my whole frame, I dreamed that chance 
one day 
Might throw such in my way. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 103 

XXXVI. 

"And yet I loved thee, Chromia, for, when turning 
Desponding from these dreams, thy softness fell 
Like dew on me. The spell, 
However, grew in strength : my spirit, burning 
To clasp the spiritual, turned away 
With scorn, from things of clay. 

XXXVII. 

" In vain, however. And this over-leaping 
Of my mortality had power to wring 
The soul whose soaring wing 
Had else attempted heaven. Forever steeping 
My brain in beauty's fountain, it became 
A reservoir of flame. 

XXXVIII. 

"None felt as I felt. Of all griefs the sorest 
Is unappreciation ; and, bereft 
Of sympathy, I left 
My fellows for the mighty, mystic forest, 

And there in solemn studies strove to find 
Tranquillity of mind. 



104 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XXXIX. 

" The trees spoke to me, and their gentle voices 
Lulled me. I raised my eyes to heaven, 
And straightway, maiden, was given 
To me great knowledge. Over the weary noises 
Of earth I heard for many, many years, 
The heart-beat of the spheres. 

XL. 

" Then came my dream of dreams ! My spirit, feeding 
So long on beauty, brought the vision forth. 
Soaring above the earth 
I seemed to walk with Gods, from out me weeding, 
More than before, my fellowship with man ; 
This placed me 'neath his ban. 

XLI. 

"I wandered forth, the fanciful upbraiding 
Of Dian haunting me ; but day by day 
Its influence passed away, 
And I grew more myself. A planet fading 

Leaves the sky darker, and my vision's flight 
Sunk me in denser night. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 105 

XLII. 

11 1 cared no more for beauty : my endeavor 
Was to forget it. In the throng I grew 
Like others, and in new 
Excitements sought to drown the past — to sever 

My close-linked memories. 'Twas a struggle : still 
Passion succumbed to Will. 

XLIII. 

" So, the Immortal faded in the Human : 
I saw my folly, and became — a man. 
The dreams that over-ran 
My boyish soul were dead, and, thenceforth, woman 
Was hateful to me — from her lustrous charms 
I fled to deeds of arms. 

XLIV. 

" Returning, I am king: perhaps, am better 

And wiser by the change from what I was, 
For life's eternal buzz 
Has silenced fancy's follies. I am debtor, 

As all are, to the world : each something owes 
For what her hand bestows. 



106 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XLV. 

" Henceforth, I live to pay that debt. To-morrow 

Will make thee mine, sweet Chromia; and thy hours 
Shall be as banks of flowers 
Born under summer kisses. Never sorrow 

Shall reach thee — never, never ! In a spot, 
Hard by a haunted grot — " 

XL VI. 

" Haunted by one, who died, they say, forsaken, — 
A poor, pale Nereid, that like vernal snow 
Before Apollo's glow, 
Dissolved with love — where earliest birds awaken, 
And where the dappled deer delight to come, 
Is built our future home. 

XL VII. 

"Look up, Divinest ! Nor with mute upbraiding 
Punish forgotten folly. Sweet, look up : 
Love still will wreathe life's cup 
With roses for us. So ! 'Tis well, this fading 
Of what should not be — sorrow. — Dimly burn 
The stars. Let us return." 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 107 

XL VIII. 

Chromia arose, doubting, but uncomplaining, 
And smiling as she went, yet as she passed 
Each open vista, cast 
Her glances on the moon : the orb was waning 

And lustreless, and wreathed with hazy clouds — 
The stars were in their shrouds. 

XLIX. 

It was a radiant sunset : such a glory 

As only glows in Grecia's golden heaven 
Illumed the brow of even: 
The amber rivers, famed in mythic story, 

The grassy meadows, and the hoary woods, — 
Primeval solitudes, — 

L. 

The rocky glens, adorned with vernal splendor, 

The mountains, crowned with beeches, waving green, 
With the whole sylvan scene, 
Caught from the skies a mellow tint and tender 
That slowly faded as the purple night 
Stood silently in sight. 



108 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

LI. 

The stars shone out, lighting a lovely valley- 
Slumbrous, save in the shouts of merriment 
That heaven-ward, hymn-like, went 
From happy youths and maids who musically 
Moved to the magic of the poet's rhyme, 
Or to the cymbal's chime. 

LII. 

A shadowy grove behind them threw a palace 
In bold relief; and, circling them, a lawn 
Lay, lit, as though with dawn, 
By rays from shrines where many a jewelled chalice, 
Mirroring their flames, threw back the mimic blaze 
Far through the forest ways. 

LIII. 

Before the building stood two pines which mounted 
Gigantic toward the stars, — two ancient trees 
The haunts of Dryades, 
Of the dim days of old. Meanwhile, uncounted, 
The hours expired in song, and the full moon 
Rose, crimson as in June. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 109 

LIV. 

Reposing on a rustic throne, enfolding 

Recovered Chromia, lay the new-made king — 
Love charming every thing 
That moved around — delighted at beholding 

His subjects' joy, and happy with the bride 
Reclining at his side. 

LV. 

And still the moon arose majestically, 

Till on the distant mountain's swarthy brow 
She set her feet of snow ; 
While Latmos, looking on the silent valley, 
Shone, like a god, arising on the night, 
Crowned with Olympian light. 

LVI. 

At last she rose and staggered onward, flying 

From maniac memory, while her lustrous eyes 
Dropped diamonds down the skies. 

Still glancing backward, loath to leave and sighing, 

She went her way, and passing frowning Mars, 

Walked onward through the stars. 
10 



110 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV, 

LVII. 

To where sat Chromia and her monarch lover, 

Suddenly broke a crowd of blushing maidens, 
With songs, whose every cadence, 
Petitioned Venus to descend and hover 

Above the twain. The gentle group had come 
To lead the young bride home. 

LVIII. 

Torches had they, and every eye was beaming 
Beneath them, as the hymeneal song 
Swelled from the lovely throng 
When Chromia stood among them, although streaming 
Athwart the group a dense and ebony gloom, 
Fell, like the shade of doom. 

LIX. 

It was the long-drawn shadow of the pines that grimly 
Stood in the moon. Away, away they flew, 
Scattering the dreaming dew 
That died as stars die, while their jewels dimly 
Faded in distance as they danced along; 
And last — expired their song. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. Ill 

LX. 

Endymion watched them, with his manly bosom 

Heaving with happiness, while his thankful eyes 
Addressed the smiling skies: 
Life, when he least expected, burst in blossom; 
Music became the measure of his hours ; 
His paths were paths of flowers, 

LXL 

Slowly by dim degrees the moon had floated 
Above his throne, and on her countenance 
Rested his passionate glance; 
And she, returning feelings as devoted, 

Trembled with pleasure, yielding sigh for sigh, 
Under his loving eye. 

LXII. 

She gazed upon him, all the while beguiling 

His heart from out his breast, and smiled, and 
smiled, 
Till he was almost wild 
With her calm loveliness — for in her smiling, 

And in the intenseness of her glance, there shone 
A passion like his own, — 



112 ENDYMION. CANTO IV. ] 

LXIII. 

A strange anxiety of look connected 

As it were with him! Gazing, again, again — 
Endeavoring, though in vain, 
To dream its meaning, he reclined, dejected, 

And drunk with wonder. Suddenly came the song 
Of the returning throng ! 

LXIV. 

" Endymion !" The charm was broken : he started 
Like one aroused from sleep : " Endymion !" 
He rose — " Endymion !" 
Downward to earth his human feelings darted, 
While, pallid, prey to anguish and dismay, 
The moon pursued her way. 

LXV. 

Recovering, she rose above her grief and slowly 

Walked toward the west: her rays were now aslant 
His happy heart, the haunt 
Of human joy by fervent love made holy, 
Endymion sought his palace, and the one 
Who thence was all his own. 



CANTO IV.^ ENDYMION. 113 

LXVI. 

Meanwhile above the pines the moon had floated, 

And now between the twain her glances streamed 
Downward, and brightly gleamed 
Along the palace walls, like sun-light moted, 

In one broad blaze, and, passing through the door, 
Slept on the inner floor! 

LXVIL 

Just then Endymion with a heart whose lightness 

Surprised him, passed the pines whose shadows lay 
Densely athwart his way, 
And reached the door. Sudden — within the brightness 
A form opposed his path, her lifted hand 
Eloquent with command! 

LXVIII. 

He started backward : when, like flowing water, 

A voice, more musical than the melodious spheres, 
Broke on his wondering ears; 
And on the instant dread Latona's daughter, 

Her glances falling, like a fountain, o'er him, 
Stood — all the god — before him! 

10* H 



114 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

LXIX. 

"Endymion," was the cadence, modulated 
To such a strain of golden harmony 
As syrens on the sea 
Murmur by moon-light, " king of Caria, fated 
By thine own folly to a fearful doom, 
Thou treadest on thy tomb." 

LXX. 

" Speak ere it closes on thee : yet dare not endeavor 
To exculpate thyself, nor me deceive. 
Why didst thou not believe? 
Why foolishly forsake thy faith, and sever 

Thyself from me? The punishment I gave 
Endured but to the grave, 

LXXI. 

"And was deserved. And what was death ? The portal 
Whose ebony gates, unfolded once, had given 
To thee the highest heaven 
And me for ever. What sublime, immortal, 

Transcendent joys were thine ! ours, what delights, 
What long — what passionate nights, 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 115 

LXXII. 

"What days of boundless love! But now how altered! 
Thou art another's, and thy earthly mate 
Awaits thee, and thy fate ! 
Go, thinking what if thou hadst never faltered, 

Thy faith had gained — how pure, how rich the 
charms, 
That panted for thine arms." 

LXXIII. 

Endymion stood aghast: her words were thunder, 
Stunning his brain : naked as Truth, and vast 
The dim, departed Past, 
Returned upon him. Stricken dumb with wonder, 
He gazed and gazed, his large, expanded eyes 
Fixed with a blank surprise. 

LXXIV. 

"Wilt thou not live?" asked Dian — " live to sorrow? 
Did I not tell thee, man, that never more 
This side the Stygian shore 
Shouldst thou fold woman's form, or else the morrow 
Beheld thee dead ? Forsake thy bride, and live ! 
Thus far will I forgive." 



116 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

LXXV. 

<l Hear me I" Endymion cried, while passion kindled 
His stony eyes. " Though I be crushed to dust, 
Goddess, I will be just. 
My heart, when first it lost thee, Dian, dwindled 
To nothingness : thy anger was its knell, 
And memory was its hell. 

LXXVI. 

" O ! how I loved thee — nay, 'twas adoration, 
My storm of passion— that I love thee now, 
Is branded on my brow, 
And in my heart that writhes in desolation — 
Nay, interrupt me not : thou canst but kill, 
And I will have my will. 

LXXVII. 

" Why should I not? Dian, I am thy equal : 
Passion, in levelling thee, exalted me — 
Passion, which like a sea, 
O'erwhelmed us both. Behold the savage sequel 

Of what, but for thy frown, had still been truth— 
A blighted, blasted youth. 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 117 

LXXVIII. 

" How was it I betrayed thee ? Dian, drunken 
With luxury to which I was not born — 
By thy high favor torn 
From those, fate made my fellows. I had sunken, 
Blind with my novel state, had I not spoken — 
I did : the spell was broken. 

LXXIX. 

" Thou didst not caution me ; my soul was cloven 
With maddening doubt : so from thy error came 
My punishment — my shame. 
Did I deserve my fate, when thou hadst woven 
This doubt around me, and, instead of light, 
Had clothed my brain with night? 

« 
LXXX. 

" Well, I was banished, and went forth, degraded, 
Scorned and forlorn. Slowly, by slight degrees, 
My mighty miseries 
Beneath the burning sun of action, faded ; 
My now-awakened soul recoiled aghast 
From the delusive Past. 



118 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

LXXXI. 

" Yet I remembered thee, but coldly deemed thee 
Ideal only, — mythus of a soul, 
Which, scorning all control, 
Grasped at forbidden things: such, Dian, I dreamed thee, 
And mine the vision that a distempered brain 
Made, tottering on its wane." 

LXXXII. 

Endymion ceased ; hope, palsied and despairing, 
Declined in Dian's eyes. Her lips apart, 
Her lofty Titan heart 
Echoing his words, she stood, her features wearing 
A marble fixedness, — a speechless glare, — 
A grief too great to bear. 

LXXXIII. 

" The words of gods are never lightly spoken l" 
She said at last, with cold and measured tone, 
Speaking like breathing stone 
But ere she closed, her voice was thick and broken : 
" Endymion, leave thy bride I" she gasped, " and 
live! 
Else I cannot forgive !" 



CANTO IV.]] ENDYMION. 119 

LXXXIV. 

"Abandon Chromia !" cried the monarch, " never ! 
I dare not — will not. Steep in agony 
One always true to me ! 
The thought alone is crime. Thy word can sever 
My thread of life : speak it : I dare defy 
Thy malice, Dian, and die !" 

LXXXV. 

The goddess gasped for breath, with bosom swelling: 
Her lips unclosed, w T hile her large, luminous eyes 
Blazing, like Stygian skies, 
With passion, on the audacious youth were dwelling: 
She raised her angry hand, that seemed to clasp 
Jove's thunder in its grasp. 

LXXXVL 

And then she stood in silence, fixed and breathless ; 
But presently the threatening arm slid down; 
The fierce, destroying frown 
Departed from her eyes, which took a deathless 
Expression of despair, like Niobe's— 
Her dead ones at her knees. 



120 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

LXXXVII. 

Slowly her agony passed, and an Elysian, 
Majestic fervor, lit her lofty eyes, 
Now dwelling on the skies: 
Meanwhile, Endymion stood, cheek, brow, and vision, 
Radiant with resignation, stern and cold, 
In conscious virtue bold. 

LXXXVIII. 

Their glances met ; his, while they trembled, showing 
An earnestness of purpose ; hers, a soul 
Whence passion's wild control 
Had passed for ever ; while her whole form, glowing, 
Resumed its stateliness : once more she stood 
Erect, in all — the god! 

LXXXIX. 

" Monarch," she said, " I stooped to love, and, loving, 
Was woman — like my sex ; but never more — 
Endymion, never more. 
Even in fancy may I watch thee, roving 

Thy native vales : my heart is parched with heat : 
Earth crumbles at my feet ! 



CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 121 

xc. 

" Go, and be happy : I, in my immortal, 
Olympian home, will struggle to forget 
That love, whose sun is set: 
So, should I meet thee at its golden portal 
In later days, it shall not be with love, 
But like a child of Jove I" 

XCI. 

Endymion stood amazed — his pale face quivering 
With wild emotion : " Life and Chromia mine !" 
He murmured, "O! divine 
Dian ! great goddess !" but suddenly a shivering 
Ran over his frame : joy, like a fierce disease, 
Compelled him to his knees. 

XCII. 

" Farewell, Endymion," said the goddess, stooping, 
Pressing with pallid lips upon his brow 
A kiss of frozen snow, 

And, mournfully turning, passed, her fair head drooping 

Upon her snowy breast : "Farewell for ever — 

For ever and for ever !" 
11 



122 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. 

XCIII. 

Endymion, stretching forth his arms, endeavored 
To clasp her garment's hem, but slowly, slowly 
She waned, and vanished wholly, 
And like a dream : the sudden silence severed 

His heart from him : " Farewell," it breathed, " for 
ever! 
For ever and for ever !" 

XCIV. 

He tottered forth : the door was clad with shadow, 

Clothed by the pines : he could not bear the gloom; 
It seemed a yawning tomb! 
And, rushing thence, he trod the moon-lit meadow; 
But still the silence sighed that sad "For ever — 
For ever and for ever !" 

xcv. 

Both hands upon his brow — terror, and sadness, 
And horror in his eyes, with speechless face, 
He pierced the depths of space, 
Glaring, like one struck dumb with sudden madness, 
While in the distance died that sad " For ever! 
For ever and for ever!" 

FINIS. 



WILLIAM D, TICKNOR & CO. 

HAVE IN PRESS AND WILL SHORTLY PUBLISH, 

THE PENANCE OF ROLAND, 

AND LATER POEMS. 

BY HENRY B. HIRST. 

THEY HAVE ALSO NEARLS READY, 

THE FUNERAL OF TIME, 

AND EARLIER POEMS. 
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OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Poetry with him is not an art, but an inherent habit of mind. His genius in- 
vests his subjects with attractions which rivet the attention and charm the fancy. 
His volume is a valuable addition to our libraries, and a stimulus to our poetical 
literature. — Metropolitan Magazine. London. 



Possess much of the true poetic revelation, and there is talent and feeling through- 
out them sufficient to establish the author a successful " son of song." — W. Harrison 
Jiinsworth. Colburn's New Monthly Magazine. London. 



Indicate the possession both of poetical power, and certainly no lack of " the ac- 
complishment of verse." — Taits' Edinburgh Magazine. 



They possess a pleasing imagery, and that poetical fancy that can embellish the 
commonest events, add a charm to the ordinary actions of life, and even heighten 
the beauty of natural objects. — Gentleman's Magazine. London, 



Displays a most enthusiastic love for the beautiful in nature and character. — Bos- 
ton Courier. 



Possessed of much poetical genius, and the true stirring spirit united with greai 
power of language. A true poet.— Boston Post. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Compares favourably with any thing now in the field.—- Lowell Advertiser. 



Displays a most luxurious sense of beauty, a fine feeling for the melody of things, 
and much spiritual insight.— Graham's Magazine 



His imagination is bold, vigorous, and at the same time delicate. His sense of the 
true provinces of poetical art is remarkably keen and discriminating, and his versifi- 
cation is superior to that of any other American poet. — Edgar A. Poe. Broadway 
Journal. 



The volume is one of much promise, which we have little reason to fear will not 
be redeemed. — Knickerbocker. 



Worthy of the highest commendation. — Southern Literary Messenger. 



Pure and beautiful creations of fancy,— gems of poesy which the heart of feeling 
will garner among its treasures. — Ladies' Book. 



Has cultivated his rhythmical faculty to the highest degree, and as a versifier stands 
among the foremost in the country. A graphic power in his delineations of nature 
which few can equal, and fewer surpass. — C. J. Peterson. Ladies' National Magazine. 

He has the power to grasp no indifferent laurel. — W. H. Carpenter. Arthurs 
Ladies' and Gentlemen's Magazine. 

Among the best— cis- Atlantic best— of the refined idealists. Remarkable for grace- 
fulness of thought, facility of versification, and command over the resources of Ian-' 
guage. — Late Jos. C. JVeal. NeaVs Saturday Gazette. 



Highly creditable to the literature of the country, indicate freshness of poetic 
feeling, purity of imagination, and distinctive simplicity of style.— Late Ezra Holden. 
Saturday Courier. 



-With an adamant pen, 



Will write his name upon the hearts of men. 

Jos. R. Chandler. United States Gazette. 



Abounds with beauties, and is remarkable for strength and originality. The volume 
may, with confidence, be pronounced honourable to its talented author, and to the 
literature of the country. — Robert Morris. Pennsylvania Inquirer, 



He has both imagination and fancy, and the native earnestness which usually ac- 
companies them. "His versification is free and manly — varied in measure and fresh 
in expression. — J. Reese Fry. North American. 



Eminently original. He not merely gives us new thoughts, but he has struck out 
new veins of thought. We doubt whether Wordsworth has any where, in the same 
compass, given more decisive evidence of true genius. — John S. Hart, A. M. Penn- ..-- 
sylvania Inquirer. 

A rising poet. — Pennsylvanian. 

His is an extraordinary possession of the faculty of language and of harmony in %,; 
numbers ; and at the same time he has a spirituality as refined as that in the prose 
of the Baron de la Motte Fouque.— Pennsylvania Reporter. 

His poems are an honour to our literature. — Philadelphia Gazette, 



LBJa?9 



